


Limbo's Noose

by PastelPrinceling



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ghosts, Haunted House
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelPrinceling/pseuds/PastelPrinceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20 years ago, a man was murdered in Michael's house. The man is still lurking in these walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spook

**Author's Note:**

> Tags to be updated as fic progresses. Also, my apologies for their texting. Not sure how else to format it.

The door into the house was unlocked, open to let the weird musty smell of the old house out. He’d opened all the windows and set up a few fans to help clear out the dust. Sure, it needed some TLC but he’d been an electrician. At least he could handle that if anything was wonky. Woodwork and shit probably wasn’t that hard. People replaced banisters and floorboards all the time. Overall the house wasn’t in too bad shape, honestly.

His sharp yell of pain echoed through the house though.

“Gavin! Jesus fuck, can you take it easy?!” Michael snapped, pushing the couch back towards him to ease it off his fingers trapped against the door casing. He set it down, inspecting his fingers.

“Oh shit, sorry Michael, did I bump your hand?” Gav asked, leaning over the couch, genuinely concerned for a moment.

“You didn’t BUMP it, you smashed it against the damn- Fuck it, lets just get this thing inside already. I wanna sit on something that isn’t wooden.”

It took a lot more cussing and cursing, more turning and twisting and at least one frustrated kick to the damn couch to dislodge it after it’d gotten wedged before the lads were able to set it down on the living room floor. Michael sighed heavily before flopping boneless across it. He huffed a few breaths before he inspected his hand again. Bruising but nothing broken. Michael poked and prodded a bit before Gavin dropped a bag of ice in a washcloth on it.

“Did you know your fridge makes ice? That’s top!” Gavin plopped down next to him on the couch with a similar long, drawn out sigh.

Michael set the ice on his hand and it helped a lot. He was ready for a damn nap, but the curious Brit piped up, “So what’d you need a home to house an army in for? This place has got like, at least four bedrooms? And offices and a piano that came with it and a basement, and I think I saw and attic and-”

“And this and that and everything but the kitchen sink, oh god, Gavin, shut up. Yes, yes it’s a big house. Got it.” Michael sighed, rubbing his face with his uninjured hand, “It was cheaper than a lot of the other houses around here. There was a single bedroom house a block up that was almost twice this one’s price. I thought if friends ever needed a place to crash, or if I end up with a girlfriend and we had kids, you know…”

Gavin hummed, looking all around the room and the nice, open floor plan, “Won’t you get lonely here all alone, boy?”

Michael shrugged, icing his hand, both folded across his stomach, “I’ve got more room to stomp around and throw a hissy fit when someone’s being a modding prick online. Plus, I won’t have old man Montgomery downstairs yelling at me to keep it down.”

He stretched out with a loud yawn, pushing his feet under Gavin’s ass on the big couch, making him squawk and squirm.

“Couldn’t be happier.”

o0o

Gavin had helped him move stuff into his house through the day, stopping to grab shitty burgers from some shitty fast food place he didn’t bother learning the name of. Most of his belongings ended up in the living room, not that he had a whole lot to deal with in the first place. But the damn vulture had snagged a bottle of rum and bolted after he’d gotten everything inside, which meant his bed was in pieces on the first floor.

All the bedrooms were on the second floor.

Michael was glad his couch was comfortable enough to sleep on.

The television and Xbox were set up, no internet until the man came out to hook it up tomorrow, but Michael figured he could live one night without it. A nice reprieve from the idiots that clogged up the arteries and highways of the world wide web.

Dinner that first night was a pizza tossed in the oven on a pan he’d had to dig out, and a plate after that. Fuck forks. It tasted a bit like cardboard, the cheap stuff, but it was hot and filled his belly, so he couldn’t really complain. Alongside a glass of rum and Coke, he played through a chunk of the campaign for Advanced Warfare before the exertion of the day got to him, lifting and hefting and carrying and moving, it was hard work. He’d dropped his pizza and soda in a mostly empty fridge before grabbing a blanket and sprawling out on the couch.

The house around him was silent, not even a wall clock to drive him mad. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the rare pass of a car outside on the street. It was enough to drive him mad. He laid awake, though his body ached and begged for sleep.

Eventually he turned the television back on, queueing up a music program and turning his television down. It was enough to put him at ease and loosen the tension from his shoulders. Michael hadn’t realized how shaken he’d gotten in the half an hour he’d fought before caving. It was how empty and quiet things were. He wasn’t used to it. He brushed it off and got some sleep instead.

o0o

The moon was high, streaming light in through the window, casting shadows around the house, shifting with the wind through the trees.

In the silence of the house, Michael was startled awake by a sudden yell, “ANNA! Anna, stop!”

Bolting upright, he stared with wide eyes into the house, gripping the couch tight enough it made his knuckles pale. He picked up his phone quickly, shining the light of it around the room, scrambling to his feet. His heart was in his throat, making his whole body hum. Licking over his lips quickly, he wanted to ask who was there, if anyone was there, but his voice died in his throat.

He poked around the house, checking in the kitchen and the rooms downstairs. He shined his light up the stairs and deemed that far too fucking spooky to venture into right now. He could just as easily turned some damn lights on, but if he did, he’d never be able to get back to sleep. Honestly, he hoped he would be able to anyway.

Michael plopped back down on the couch, hands shaking. He pinched them between his knees, glancing around. He didn’t even have his damn glasses on for fucks sake.

_“There was a man who was murdered in this house 20 years ago. His body was never recovered. He had a gold digger of a wife and when she found out he wasn’t as wealthy as she thought, she killed him and took what she could. She was caught a week later gambling it away, but his body was never found.”_

Wrapping arms around himself, he rubbed the chill out of his arms. He swallowed hard, acid roiling in his gut. He looked over his shoulder, “If you’re in here, fuck off! I don’t believe in you, and you need to leave me the hell alone!”

He pulled his blanket over his shoulders, still shivering. Michael curled up tight in the corner of the couch and tried to get back to sleep.

His dreams were nothing but blackness.

o0o

Morning came and went, and the afternoon crept up on him. Heat and sunlight poured into the house and Michael bundled up in his blankets, he ended up gross and sticky with sweat. When it was too much to stand, he peeled himself out of it, the night’s ordeal forgotten. Glasses and phone were scooped up on his way to find his bathroom stuff. He needed to take a wicked piss, and he was gross with sweat, he needed a shower.

He only ended up searing off two layers of skin when the shower unexpectedly doused him in hot water when he thought it’d be cold. He’d have to tinker with the dial after he got through the skin graft. Even grumpy as he was, he managed to clean up and dress in something other than loose pj pants, and even managed to dig out a bowl and make himself some cereal at the kitchen counter. Of course, he stood at the counter, but he’d get chairs sorted out eventually. He’d never needed chairs in his apartment. Michael was going to need to do a lot of saving up and furniture shopping.

It’d be a shame if he ever lived in a place smaller than this if he ended up filling it with furnishings.

After breakfast, unpacking things was more methodical than thought driven. The house was filled with the music on his iPod playing on the counter top and he unpacked dishes and blankets and clothes and video games. Towels and curtains and knick knacks. He didn’t have an overabundance of belongings, but what he did have, meant a lot to him.

Michael was done unpacking before lunch, and decided to kick back and relax and order subs from the sandwich shop a few blocks over. Delivery was a blessing unto man.

His day was uneventful aside from that, dusting and hanging curtains and taking clothes up to his room. Only twice did he stop to look at a doorway. The pull down stairs to the attic, and the door to the basement. He told himself right then and there he wasn’t going into either of those spaces.

He also told himself it wasn’t because he was afraid of ghosts or spiders or the supernatural, but there was probably mold or something gross. Yeah, that was it.

By the time he sat down for dinner, he was exhausted, contemplating just skipping it to pass the hell out. He flopped backwards on the couch with a sigh. His bed still wasn’t upstairs but there was no way he was getting that mattress and box spring up all those stairs without some help. Fuck Gavin for leaving him high and dry like he had. Asshole.

His phone buzzed with text messages, and when he flipped it over to look at it, he groaned. Speak of the devil.

 **Gavino:** i was thinking boi, you gonna be safe there?  
 **Gavino:** like did you take care of stuff so you know  
 **Gavino:** so he doesn’t know where you ran off to?

Michael’s eyes watched the words, flicking over them a few times as he absorbed them. He licked over his lips and sighed, typing back:

 **Micoo:** He’s not gonna bother me all the way out here  
 **Micoo:** Don’t worry  
 **Gavino:** if youre sure about that  
 **Gavino:** up for bevs tomorrow night?  
 **Gavino:** you me and ryan?  
 **Micoo:** Sounds good to me.  
 **Gavino:** top, see you at 7

Michael set his phone aside after that, rubbing the cloak of exhaustion that had settled over him shoulder out of his eyes. He sat up again though, watching the house, now furnished somewhat, feeling a bit more like home. It was nicer. It felt less empty, less like he was in a barren place. Less like he was trespassing. There was a wall clock up now, which helped to fill the house with some noise, even if it was soft and repetitive. It was still better than the endless silence.

He sat up for a while, listening to the house settle, the wind outside, and the clock on the wall.

_“ANNA! Anna, stop!”_

The words echoed in his head, haunting him from the night before. He’d done really well not to think about it all day. His stomach clenched and Michael pulled his blanket off the back of the couch to tuck in for the night.

Fifteen minutes later, when he was dozing, nearly on the cusp of proper sleep, the smell of whiskey and wood polish drifted through the house. It wasn’t enough to wake him, but it was something that had him dreaming of alcohol and shining wood.


	2. Haunt

“C’mon boy, quit draggin’ ass, let’s GO!” Gavin called, a bright smile on his face. He was standing on the edge of the frame of the car by the passenger seat, leaning over the top of it, waving to Michael on his porch locking up the house.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, geez, I’m going. The booze’ll be there if I wanna drag my ass!”

“Miiiichaaaeeel!” Gavin whined, patting the top of the car in a haphazard rhythm, “Come ooooon.”

Ryan leaned out the driver’s window a little, “You know, if you just hurry up, you don’t have to listen to him bitch.”

Michael climbed into the back of the car, “Impatient fucks, lets go, what are you waiting for? Quit stalling and get in the car, Gavin.”

Scrambled to step off the perch, Gavin slipped back into the car next to Ryan in the front, fumbling to buckle up, “Okay, okay we’re good.” He put up a fist, “To the bevs!”

Ryan didn’t mind being designated driver, especially because these two always ended up keeping him laughing and smiling through the night regardless of his own drinking or not. And Michael needed to be able to scope out some of the local drinking holes anyway. A bit of a crawl tonight would be fun!

“Think you’ll be taking home a tall drink of water tonight?” Gavin asked, half turned to look at Michael in the back seat.

“Keeping hydrated is important, you know,” Ryan interjected, laughing to himself when Gavin swatted his arm.

Michael rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Day 3 in Austin, I’m picking up chicks. It must be the accent. Everybody loves a Jersey boy.”

“Like the Situation, ey?” Gavin smiled, knowing just what he’d said. That was the right reference, right?

A loud, long groan was all Michael answered with and it had Gavin laughing his fool head off, sitting straight. They pulled into the parking lot a block up and Ryan cut the engine, “So, battle plan is hit up a few clubs here in town, stop in and have a couple of drinks in each bar, and help you scope out the down, alright? You two can drink like fishes, but I’m gonna grab a soda or two and call it good so I make sure you idiots make it home safe.”

Michael climbed out of the car, heading for the main strip, calling over his shoulder, “Yes, MOM.”

o0o

“What are you goin’ on about Michael?” Gavin asked, tilting his head in to look at his boi, wholly confused.

“I’m saying- I think… Either I’ve got asshole neighbors or, you know, my house might be haunted.”

“Pfffff-” Gavin sputtered, shaking his head, “You’re already drunk, look at you, you cheeky little git. Ghosts aren’t real. It’s all that fear making us think they’re there. You know how when you think you’re sick and you actually do get sick?”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Ryan from the side piped up, “I think he’s trying to explain hypochondriacs.”

“I don’t think you can be a hypochondriac when it comes to GHOSTS, Gav.” Michael shook his head, drinking more from his tumbler.

The Brit reached across the table, tapping him in the forehead, “Yes huh, it’s all in here. That lass told you a dude died in the house and now you’re thinking it’s haunted. It was quiet as dicks and you thought you heard something, or a dream woke you up. No ghosts.”

“Wait, a man died in that house?” Ryan asked, looking between the two before settling back on Michael, “What happened?”

“The lady who sold me the house said some dude had a wife who didn’t think he had enough money or something and she killed him and took off and ended up in jail because she gambled it all away. They never found his body.”

Ryan picked at their big dish of shared fries, cushion to help the alcohol a little, humming. He licked salt off his thumb before he spoke up, “I don’t know that there’s NOT actually a ghost in that case.”

“Not you too!” Gavin griped, setting his glass down, “That shit isn’t real, it’s dumb.”

“Well no, hear me out, okay?” A sip of his soda and it was set aside, “It’s been proven in a few cases and stuff, that when someone goes through something traumatic like that, something wherein they experience something really stressful and emotionally charged, their spirit tends to linger around. That’s why so many old hospitals and asylums are haunted. Because they used to treat the patients like garbage there, and it was really stressful and hard on the patients, so some piece of themselves sticks around, like an imprint on the place after they’re gone.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes, then looked at his own drink, “You’re all crazy. I’ve gotta take a piss. Don’t get scared off by the boogie man while I’m gone.”

Michael chewed on his lip, looking over at Ryan next to him in the booth, “So you think his wife killing him was emotionally shitty enough he’s still there?”

“It’s not unlikely, especially if they’d had marital trouble for a while over money before she left.”

A soft hum, dragging a french fry through ketchup and making a little mess. Ryan ate a few more fries himself before asking, “Do you remember anything specific from that night? Something you heard? Something you saw?”

“Well, I didn’t see jack shit, pretty thankful for that, but I woke up because I heard someone yell ‘Anna, Anna stop’. So I’m gonna guess her name was Anna and he knew she was coming for him when she offed him?”

A hand on his shoulder, big and comforting, rocking him just a little. Ryan smiled for him, warm and reassuring, “It’s probably not a big deal. You haven’t heard anything since then, so I think you’re alright. Might be something that happens now and then, but it’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Michael downed the rest of his drink before Gavin came back, ready to ditch this bar and hit up the next and maybe not think about ghosts and dead dudes anymore tonight.

o0o

“Haha, and then he comes in and asks, ‘do you know anything about this shit covered ball?’ and I fucking lost it.”

Ryan and Gavin laughed, loud and boisterous, and Michael smiled so much, leaning on Ryan a little, Gavin on his other shoulders.

“Jesus, that’s-” Gavin hiccuped, covering his mouth. Ryan nearly paused, worried he was going to vomit, but he shook it off. The Brit whined softly, “‘M fuckin’ sloshed.”

A little huff of a laugh before Ryan led the two of them down to the car again, “Come on you idiots, lets get you back home and get some water and Advil in you.”

He helped the both of them into the back seat of the car, and Michael and Gavin sort of melted against each other, boneless. He climbed into the front and adjusted the mirror so he could keep an eye on them and on the road. Ryan rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a fond smile. They were younger than he, and in a way, felt a bit like younger brothers.

He made sure they both got home alright, Michael before Gavin because the Brit had passed the hell out in the back seat, so he’d opted to leave him there for a few extra minutes.

“You’re not getting out of it Michael. You might have to sleep down here on the couch, but there’s a bathroom around the corner. Advil and water, it’ll help the hangover ahead of time.” Ryan fussed at him, holding out a couple of pills and a glass of water.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna, Rye-bread. S’not a big deal.” He tried to push them away but Ryan’s voice was solid and his eyes were dark.

“Take them or I’ll force them down your throat, Michael.”

Michael stared, and took them quickly. Ryan huffed another laugh, ruffling his curls, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You’re terrifying when you wanna be.”

Ryan took a step back to bow low, smirking up at him, “Acting.”

Michael pushed him away with a foot, sneering out at him, “Manipulation.”

The gent shook his head with a smile, “Finish the glass of water, or at least try. I’m gonna go get Gav to bed too before he ‘chunders’ all over my car. I’ll text you tomorrow to see how you feel.”

With a little nod, Michael drank more, and when he looked back, Ryan was already at the door, heading out. He gave him a little wave before he pulled the blanket off the side of the couch overtop of himself haphazardly, laying down on the sofa. Eyelids heavy already, he was out like a light in just a few minutes.

Hours later, on into the night, the blanket was dragged higher on his shoulders, covering him up properly. A cold rush of air passed his cheek, drawing a shiver that made him bury himself farther into his covers.

Michael mumbled a quiet word of thanks under his breath. In his unconsciousness, he thought it was Ryan who’d come back from the door to cover him up properly before leaving.

Ryan was already asleep in the recliner at Gavin’s house, having helped the poor fuck through three different bouts of vomiting. Poor sick bastard. But at least he’d gotten to sleep alright on the couch next to him.

Again the scent of whiskey and wood polish went unnoticed, but the chill kept him covered up through the night.


	3. Spectre

Michael’s head was pounding even before he opened his eyes. And after? Forget it. The light from the windows, big ones with sheer curtains, it filled the house, it made him wince and bury his face into the blanket draped over him. He must have pulled it off the back of the couch in his sleep. He fumbled for his phone, trying to check the time. Cracking an eye, he squinted, seeing it was after noon. He was still exhausted.

He laid on the couch for a bit before he sat up slowly, head swimming. Michael groaned quietly, squinting more, trying to let his eyes adjust. A pounding in his skull made stars bounce across his vision. He stumbled here and there, trying to shake it off, heading upstairs to the bathroom.

Pain meds were fished out of the cabinet, the lights in the bathroom left off, just the sun in the hall window streaming in. It was more manageable than the open downstairs. He tapped out a few and took them with water, using the cup on the back of the sink. They went down hard, but he’d survive. 

Michael brushed his teeth, getting the taste of day old alcohol and soda, and the lingering taste of smoke from the bars out of his mouth after and when he stepped out into the hallway, the curtains at the end of the hallway were drawn over the window.

He scrubbed at his face, watching the curtains, holding his own cheek. He wanted to go down to investigate, but his head hurt, and he wasn’t about to go closer to the light than he needed to.

Heading back down the stairs, he found that all of the curtains had been drawn tight over the windows, blocking a good lot of the light. They sure as fuck hadn’t been like that when he’d gone upstairs. Had he gotten used to the light already and maybe they had actually been closed? No, it couldn’t be. Michael remembered being able to see the dust in the air from the sun shining through the windows. Now it was dimmer. Still bright as dicks, but dimmer.

“Alright, this is getting pretty fucking ridiculous,” Michael said, voice loud enough it hurt his head, though not a yell. Raised, but not angry. “Gavin might not believe in you, and I don’t think I do, but if you’re a damned ghost or specter or whatever, you’re doing a shit job. Don’t you know you’re meant to haunt and scare, not make sure my hangover doesn’t literally kill me?”

Walking through the house towards the kitchen, “Who ever heard of a fatherly ghost. Surprised you don’t have breakfast cooking for me.”

He was grumpy, and he was shouting through his house at something that probably wasn’t there.

Only the silence of the house and the cars passing outside returned his ranting. A dog down the street started barking and Michael sighed, shaking his head. This was stupid.

He puttered around making breakfast instead, cereal and toast. Easy enough and not hard to replace if he chundered. He felt alright in the stomach, but it wished his meds would kick in already. He stopped halfway through making breakfast to listen to the house some more, the ticking of the wall clock.

“If you’re here, come out and say something.” It was a demand, a taunt, and some attempt to provoke the spirit.

Again he was met with silence.

Michael watched the house, straining to listen and scoffed, “Figures. Fucking pansy.”

He wasn’t sure if he was crazy to be yelling at an empty house, or if the spirit was a pansy for not coming out to show himself. Either way, he resigned himself to video games and breakfast and probably a nap after that.

o0o

“Beth, he’s just not the man I married,” Anna stirred her drink with her straw, looking across the table at her best friend.

Raising both eyebrows, Beth asked softly, “How so? What changed?”

Anna sat back, watching her drink continue to spiral after she’d let go of the straw, “He’s quieter. He’s not going out as much. He’s… ugh, Beth, he’s asking about KIDS.”

Beth cringed, giving her a face as though she’d smelled something foul, “Kids? Really? But, they’re wrinkly, smelly, messy little monsters. Absolute brats, if you ask me.”

Gesturing to her, she sat forward, “I know, that is exactly what I’ve always said! But he says that maybe if we have one, it’ll be different. And I just don’t want one. He said we could adopt, and it’s not about being the size of a whale, it’s about a snot nosed cockroach running around my house breaking things and getting marker and food on my walls.”

Anna sighed a forlorn sound, “Bethany, what do I do?”

Reaching across the table to hold Anna’s hands in her own, “Well, what you could do…” She hummed, thinking it over before she actually said anything, “Is fake a pregnancy and lose the baby and tell him you tried, but you just can’t try again.”

She sat up slowly, watching Beth’s face across from her. A smile slowly crossed her lips, “Oh Bethany, you were always the clever one.”

o0o

It was soft when Michael first heard it, and he thought it was something outside. It happened again a little while later, a bit louder. A whisper of a shiver, a little hiccup of someone who’d been sobbing. The third time it sounded like it was in the next room over and made Michael pause his game to listen closely.

Someone was crying. He could hear them. Setting the controller aside, he stood up, listening intently to see if he could hear more, or where it might be coming from. He tiptoed around the house, playing hot and cold with the sound, trying to pinpoint where it might be. Honestly it reminded him of searching for a dungeon and Minecraft, or looking to avoid the Witch in L4D.

The doors to the parlor hadn’t been opened in a while, aside from when he’d opened them to air out the house when he’d moved in a few days ago. He’d shut the doors again after that, no use keeping them open. There wasn’t anything in here he found useful. No furniture, but there was a grand piano in the corner of two walls of windows, looking out over the yard and the street. It was a nice room, but it was too open for his tastes.

The piano had a bench under it, and in this room, he could hear the crying the loudest.

It was someone, a male by the sounds of it, crying of a damned broken heart. He sounded absolutely destroyed, broken down and defeated, on his last legs. Like all his hope was gone, soft, pitiful sobs, little hiccups and big sniffles.

This room was colder than the others, at least right now.

Michael perched on the bench, the hair on the back of his neck stood straight, goosebumps prickling along his freckled skin.

“You’re the guy who died in this house, aren’t you?”

The crying continued, and Michael could only picture the quiver of lips, the heave of a chest, and the redness in his face. There was no face to imagine technically, but those features still stood out to him.

“Why are you crying? It’s really annoying. What do you even have to be sad about? You’re dead.”

After another sniffle, it stopped. Not a sound to be heard. The chill lingered, but the crying had stopped. Michael glanced around to see if he could spot the ghost, maybe? A glint here, a glimmer there, maybe a weird orb or a shadow in the corner of his eye. Nothing.

“Are you gonna talk to me? Or are you good with just, you know, screaming in the middle of the night and crying?”

Still, he was met with nothing but silence. He sat still on the bench for the piano, half turning to run fingers over the dusty keys. He didn’t push any down, feeling too creeped out by the instrument and the ghost lingering in this room. Michael shivered as ice slid down his arm. He turned quickly, but still, saw nothing.

A voice, soft and chilly muttered, “You’re a goddamn brat.”

Staring at the rest of the room, Michael swallowed hard. He stood up quickly and skirted out of the room, shutting the doors tight behind him.

o0o

Ryan looked into the windows, watching the parlor. He looked over his shoulder to Michael standing a foot or so behind him, “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

“No Ryan, I didn’t hear a series of things in that specific coincidental order,” Michael’s brow knit, “Yes that’s what I heard.”

Looking back in through the windows on the doors, “I don’t know what to do, in this case. The ghost doesn’t seem to be hostile. At least, not so far, right?”

Michael looked his hands over a few times, shrugging and shaking his head, “Not a scratch or a scrape. He called me a ‘goddamn brat’ after I told him to quit his blubbering. I think he’s offended more than mad.”

Ryan chuckled, turning away from the doors, “You’re rude even to the undead. At least it’s nice to know we don’t get special treatment.” He stepped around the lad and into his living room, “Do you want me to help you get your bed upstairs?”

He plopped down on the couch with his drink in hand, “Eventually, maybe. Can ghosts move from where they were killed?”

Settling next to him, Ryan picked up his own drink from where he’d set it on the coffee table. He hummed, rubbing his chin, “Honestly, I think it might depend on the ghost. You see some in institutions that stay in their rooms, but that might be because that’s where they lived the most, was in that room. When it comes to a ghost in his own home, I couldn’t tell you.”

“Well, it’s my house now.”

“I don’t know about that, Michael. It’s not like you can evict him. If he’s here, he’s probably staying. But I doubt he’s gonna be enough trouble that you’ll need to do anything drastic.” He’d been watching the parlor doors again, but looked back at Michael, “I think you’re just gonna have to learn to live with your roommate.”

Michael huffed, shaking his head. He tossed Ryan a controller and queued up Advanced Warfare, smirking sidelong at him.

If some spook was gonna live in his house, he was gonna make the most of living here, enjoy himself and his life. And if he could, maybe annoy the shit out of the ghost in return. It was only fair, right? He was a brat after all.


End file.
